Little Devil
by MyownlilfantaC
Summary: After a long case, John tries to keep Lestrade away long enough for Sherlock to get some sleep. Unfortunately, they've had an adorable break in.


My first Sherlock fic. Just a silly, not to be taken seriously at all, drabble.

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**Little Devil**

"He's sleeping." John repeated firmly but quietly. "Even _he_ needs to. That last case you had us on lasted four days and we only just got it all sorted out a few hours ago." He shook out his newspaper and sighed through his nose to let Lestrade know he was becoming irritated. He'd always found it slightly concerning that Lestrade didn't seem to feel bad about using Sherlock whenever they couldn't solve a case right away; in fact he rather thought that maybe they weren't trying as hard as they could before they ran to 221B. It wasn't as if they were paying Sherlock to help them but at the same time they had no qualms about asking for his help incessantly.

"Yeah, but-" the Detective Inspector started.

John slamming his newspaper closed cut him off. "_Look_. Sherlock doesn't work for you, alright? And as much as he loves a good case he needs some rest between them or he's going to get sick. He'll go until he collapses, you _know_ that." He stood to make himself some tea and ignored Lestrade's heavy sigh, knowing he'd finally gotten his point across.

It was then that agent Donovan came running up their steps, coming to a stop beside Lestrade with her usual air of impatience. "The freak coming or not?" She asked haughtily.

"Not." John snapped, getting tired of her childish name calling; it might not bother Sherlock, but it annoyed the hell out of him. He set his cup of tea down on the coffee table and then turned to regard them both with his best 'I'm losing my patience' smile.' "Now, why don't you both-"

"John?"

The sudden appearance of, and the uncharacteristic uncertainty in, Sherlock's voice caused all three of them to turn and look in the direction of the consulting detective's bedroom, the door to which stood half open.

"John?!" Sherlock called again, sounding slightly alarmed.

With a roll of his eyes at the detective's dramatics, the doctor took a few steps down the hall towards the man's room before his flat mate suddenly appeared in the doorway in nothing but black drawstring pyjama bottoms and a 'just-woke-up' hair do, no longer seeming to be panicked.

John came to a halt and placed a hand over his mouth, trying to hide his smile as Sherlock's normally quick eyes stared, bewildered and half asleep, into his own. "What's the matter, Sherlock?"

He always liked to savour moments like these; their rarity made them that much more special. It wasn't often that Sherlock's brain lagged behind John's, as it was right now, and it was the only time the doctor got to feel even a little more superior. Sadly, it never lasted long. Another moment passed in which the normally genius brain struggled to catch up with it's own state of consciousness and then a tiny, fuzzy white creature tore out of the room at breakneck speed, bypassing John and then Donovan and Lestrade and skidding round the corner into the kitchenette with a comedic amount of scrabbling and scrambling across the hard wood floor.

Sherlock pointed uselessly, his eyes a bit more alert. "That is the matter to which I was referring. John." He pulled a breath through his nose, ribs popping briefly as his lungs expanded. "Why is there a cat and agent Donovan in our flat?"

"Donovan came through the door shortly after Lestrade and as for the cat...well, you're the one who leaves his window open all the time. The cat was likely cold last night and climbed through your window. God knows there are enough overgrown plants, bins and ledges it could have used to get up there."

Sherlock sniffed and said nothing, which meant he knew John was right but didn't want to admit it. He walked shamelessly down the hall, shooting Lestrade and Donovan a small glare as an acknowledgement of their presence, and stood in the doorway to the kitchen, eyes snapping this way and that, trying to find the animal.

When John glanced over at Greg and Donovan he did a double take upon seeing the look on the female agent's face. She was biting her bottom lip rather harshly and was staring unblinkingly at Sherlock's naked torso.

It wasn't long before Lestrade soon caught him staring at her and he looked over at his coworker. Then to Sherlock, who was completely oblivious and still busy looking for the cat, and then back to Donovan. It was another second before it clicked for him, but when it did, his eyes widened comically.

"Donovan!" He snapped, drawing Sherlock's attention momentarily.

She jumped and blushed furiously, making John wonder if she'd even realized what she was doing until Lestrade brought it to her attention, and muttered something about waiting for him in the car before making a hasty retreat. Sherlock looked on, clueless as ever, glancing over at John like he always did when he knew he was missing something in a social situation, but a small crash from within the kitchen brought his attention back to the matter at hand.

When Lestrade moved as if to lend a hand, John put out his arm. "No, no. This has the potential to be quite entertaining. Let's not spoil it."

The detective sent him a sidelong glance of amusement mixed with disbelief but stayed put.

"You find him yet, Sherlock?" John baited, taking a seat on the sofa and gesturing for Lestrade to do the same.

"Obviously I haven't, John, otherwise I would not still be crawling around on the floor looking for it."

Lestrade was not trying at all to hide his amusement and crossed his arms as if awaiting his favourite part in a movie.

Just then the critter let out a screech of anger as Sherlock clamped his nimble hands around it and pulled it from the cupboard near the floor that was missing a door. The cat clawed at the baking sheets in an attempt to keep the human from pulling him from his hiding spot, but unfortunately all that served to do was pull all the baking pans out onto the floor with a deafening clatter.

"Ah! You little bastard!" They heard Sherlock curse in pain, likely because the noise of the pans had scared the poor animal, causing it to claw at his captive.

The consulting detective emerged from the kitchen with the tiny white fuzzball clasped in both his hands, a furious scowl upon his face and several angry red scratches on his arms.

"Oh, it's only a kitten!" Lestrade laughed. "Little devil, isn't he?"

Sherlock's glare held but switched focus to Lestrade momentarily while he kept the kitten at arms length. The poor creature seemed to have calmed down at least and was sitting calmly in his hands with it's tiny face looking out over the living room while Sherlock glared at the back of it's head.

John shook his head, looking into the innocent blue eyes of the tiny kitten. "You gonna put him back on the street then?" He asked.

"Of course!" Came the vicious reply as he turned the kitten around in his hands, "You think I want an evil little-" the consulting detective stopped abruptly, his features going slack as he and the kitten stared at each other.

After a moment of this, Sherlock sighed heavily. "Dammit."

John frowned, confused. "What's wrong?"

Sherlock looked down at the floor and then a second later his blue eyes darted up to look at the cat again. He then cleared his throat brusquely, "Well, we'll just have to keep him." He declared, sniffing and looking around the room as if searching for something.

John's frown only deepened. "What? Why?"

"Because John," Sherlock explained slowly like he always did when he thought John was missing something rather obvious. "Look at him!" He thrust the cat into John's face. "He's bloody adorable."

A slow smile was stretching across Lestrade's face as he looked between John and Sherlock. "Can't argue with that logic."

"Precisely."

John sighed and rubbed his eyes as Sherlock turned the feline back around to look at him. The kitten reached out a paw and tried to bat the detective's nose playfully, causing a brief flutter of a grin before Sherlock wiped his face clean. He set the cat gently down on the couch beside John, where it promptly crawl into his lap, curled itself into a purring ball and fell asleep.

"I'll be back!" Sherlock called, grabbing his wallet off the counter and running down the stairs.

The doctor sighed, hearing the man immediately run back up the seventeen steps.

"Might not be good to go to the shops with no clothes on." He muttered as he dashed to his room.

"A bit not good, yeah."

Another sigh eased itself past his lips and he just stared down at the newest flat resident.

"Well you were right." Lestrade said with a smirk as he rose from the couch, "That was _very_ amusing."


End file.
